


Duende

by mindoverantimatter



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M, Swearing, dancer Eren, singer Jean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-02-24 21:16:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2596670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mindoverantimatter/pseuds/mindoverantimatter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean Kirstein is a singer at Sina's Bar and Cabaret. Eren is the dancer who crashes his pity-party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This AU was spawned by listening to Jonah Scott's wonderful singing voice. Listen [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EQ3V28Vswb0%20).

Jean turned up his iPod and pulled his beanie down over his ears. Riding the train was unpleasant at the best of times, but it being rush hour on a Friday night was by far the worst. Bored and annoyed, Jean pretended to study the dingy advertisement over the windows. He had never used a bond lawyer, and the garish colors made him hope to never need one.

The train jostled and Jean reached out to steady himself, grabbing ahold of one vertical poles by the door over the head of a shorter passenger. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the stranger staring at him. He turned to apologise, free hand coming up to pull out an earbud. Looking at the stranger straight on, Jean recognized him as one of the regular patrons at his work. He was about a head and a half shorter than Jean, with dark receding hair and thick lines around his eyes. As Jean was about to say something, the older man shook his head minutely, eyes wide. His eyes slid past Jean, focusing on the woman who stood across from them. Jean watched as the man took her hand and pulled her further into the car.

It was a reaction Jean had seen before. He recognized people from where he worked all the time, but they almost never acknowledged him. Jean couldn’t really blame them either. 

To cover the movement, Jean tugged his iPod out of his pocket, quickly shuffling through songs. As the train came to a stuttering stop, he settled on an 80’s power ballad. As the opening riffs pealed through his earbuds, the doors slid open and Jean had to refrain from dancing out onto the platform. Settling instead to walk to the beat, he put his iPod back in his jean’s pocket and began the ten minute walk to work.

Heading to work when everyone else was heading home was a convenience traffic-wise, even with the sidewalks full of pedestrians. Jean navigated the familiar walk mostly on autopilot, wishing to himself that he had left his leather jacket back at home. It was still too early in the year for the heavy article, but Jean thought the jacket made him look hardcore. He reasoned that even if the sweltering late summer heat hadn’t broken yet, it would still be chilly when he got off work in the wee hours of the morning.

That thought was less comforting when sweat began to pool in the small of his back.

Jean ducked into a dead end alley, pulling out his headphones out of his ears. Leaning against the wall, just inside the shadow between the buildings by the staff entrance to the club, was a tall, sandy blond bouncer. 

“Hey, Mike,” Jean said. Mike looked up, ash falling from the cigarette between his teeth. “Long time no see.”

“Jean.” Mike pushed off the wall and turned to face him. They clasped hands for a moment, before he pulled Jean into a loose hug and thumped his back a few times. Mike took a deep breath before letting go. “How was Italy?”

“Oh, you know, good pasta. Really hot. My hotel had a really cool shower--” Jean paused mid-sentence. “I don’t remember telling anyone I was going to Italy.”

“You smell like garlic and wheat,” Mike laughed, clapping a hand on Jean’s arm. “Just don’t let Hanji know you went without getting them a souvenir.”

“And that’s why I didn’t tell anyone.” Jean moved to walk through the door. “I’ll see you later, Mike.”

Mike waved and went back to his cigarette. Jean ducked inside, hitting the doorjamb overhead on his way through and letting the door swing shut behind him. Quickly making his way through the narrow hallways, Jean checked his phone for new messages. Seeing a message from an old school friend, he smiled and began to reply. Not looking up, he entered his dressing room.

“HAVEN’T YOU EVER HEARD OF KNOCKING, ASSHOLE? WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?”

Jean stopped in his tracks, one hand still on the doorknob. A stranger stood at his vanity, turned at the waist to glare at him. Jean stared incredulously back. The stranger had dark, shaggy hair and tan skin. His green eyes stood out against dark lashes, his full eyebrows pulled down and together in anger.

“I should be asking you that. Who the fuck do you think you are?” Jean shoved his phone into his pocket and sized the guy up. He was definitely at a height advantage if this dude was looking for a fight, but Jean’s lanky frame didn’t boast much for power.

“You fucked up my eyeliner,” the guy yelled, turning to fully face Jean and waving a dark brown eyeliner pencil erratically. True enough, Jean could see the long, jagged line that curved down and away from one eye.

“Your eyeliner was fucked way before I got here,” Jean crossed his arms over his chest. Eyeliner was smudged unevenly around the man's wide eyes. "It's not my fault your mommy never taught you how to do it."

The stranger made an offended noise and began to storm across the small room, shoes clacking loudly against the tile. With the second step, the guy’s foot slipped out from under him and he fell comically to the ground. A string of expletives left the guy’s mouth as Jean noticed the shining new taps on the bottom of his black shoes. Jean laughed outright.

“Didn’t anyone tell ever you that taps and tile don’t mix,” Jean asked as he reached to help him up off the floor. The dark haired man laughed mockingly and batted Jean’s hand away. Jean watched irked as he picked himself up, struggling for balance on his slick shoes. Standing, the man dusted off his black slacks, rattling the white suspenders that hung down around his narrow hips.

“Go fuck yourself,” the man said while straightening his white tank top with thin hands. He carefully picked his way over to a cushioned stool before sitting and yanking his shoes off with a huff. 

“Whatever you say, Fred Astaire.” Jean leaned against the wall next to the door, crossing his ankles. “You still haven’t told me what you’re doing in my dressing room.”

"Wait, your dressing room?" The brunette looked incredulously at Jean, one eyebrow raised. Jean took in his round face, noticing for the first time the messy and uneven application of stage makeup. Jean’s eyes slid away from the brunette’s face, looking around the room.

“Yes, my dressing room. I don’t know what gets your rocks off, being in here, but you’d better not be making a mess with the makeup. Levi will kill us both if he saw it.”

“Levi is not the problem right now, Jean.”

“Levi is always the pro-” Jean’s brain came to a screeching halt as what was just said fully sank in. He abandoned his cursory inspection of the room to instead stare open mouthed at the other man. “How did you know my name?”

Before he could answer, the door slammed open.

“EREN!” A familiar voice yelled as a body practically fell through the doorway. Jean leaned around the open door to see Hanji flipping frantically through the papers on a clipboard. “THIS SAYS YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE ON STAGE IN FIFTEEN MINUTES BUT WE DON’T OPEN FOR ANOTHER HOUR?”

As always, a worried looking Moblit entered the room three steps behind the whirlwind that is Hanji. He raked a hand through his light brown hair and sighed wearily.

“Technically,” Moblit began, taking the clipboard from Hanji’s hands. “We open in half an hour, as your watch has been wrong for the past three days and you haven’t gotten it fixed yet.”

Hanji completely ignored what Moblit was saying, instead filling their now vacant hands with wads of fabric that hung around the room. They began to scold Eren about final fittings and making sure he had plenty of room for movement.

“Also, he was supposed to be on stage for dress rehearsal about an hour ago before the band started warm ups.” Moblit commented as he tried in vain to organize the papers in his hands, finally settling on just straightening them on the clipboard.

“Moblit, honey!” Hanji turned their head away from where they were forcing a shirt over Eren’s head. “Why didn’t you say something earlier? There are still pins in his jacket!”

“I told you last night that his costume needed to be finished before open tonight. Don’t you ever read my sticky notes?”

“Of course I do. In passing, before I use them for the 8-bit mural I’m working on.” Hanji pushed their square glasses up their nose and focused intensely on threading a needle. Moblit sighed heavily before turning to Jean.

“Jean, are you planning on--” That was as far as Moblit got before Hanji’s head whipped around and caught sight of Jean standing awkwardly behind the open door.

“Jean!” They yelled ecstatically before dropping the sewing and rushing over. Hanji swept Jean into a hug. Despite their height, Hanji still managed to pick Jean up off the floor and swing him around like a rag doll.

“Hey Hanji,” Jean choked out, pushing helplessly against the strong arms that crushed his diaphragm. “How about letting a guy breathe?”

“Welcome back, Jeanie Boy,” Hanji dropped Jean into a unceremonious heap on the ground. Still talking, they turned to rummage through the hanging rack of costumes that stood against one wall. “I’m glad you’ve already met Eren. I’m positive the two of you are gonna get on great. And since you’re such great buds, I’m sure you won’t mind Eren borrowing your suit jacket.”

Hanji threw said jacket over their shoulder, smacking Eren directly in his face. Jean opened his mouth to protest, but Hanji didn’t slow down.

“Sure, it’s gonna be a little tight in the shoulders, maybe long in the sleeves, but Eren can make it work. At this point in time, there’s really no use for a plan C. With this, I can finish the alterations in time for Jean to go onstage, probably. Then everyone is dressed and happy and I won’t have to explain anything to Erwin.”

“Explain what to me, Hanji?”

Collectively, everyone in the room turned to face the deep voice in the doorway. Erwin was leaned against the door jam, weight on one leg and his hand relaxed on his hip. Jean could practically feel the life drain from Moblit’s body. Not that he could really blame him. Erwin was an intimidating presence. Even after years of being out of the military and the loss of a limb, his tall frame was well muscled and always held with commanding precision. 

“Oh, manager,” Moblit found his voice and proceeded to nail his coffin with it. “We’re just a little behind with the costumes.”

Erwin cocked an eyebrow.

“Hanji, is that true?”

“Psh, no. Of course not.” Hanji laughed as they tried to subtly kick the sewing kit behind where Eren was sitting. “Everyone has costumes, and Eren’s ready to perform. Isn’t that right?” Hanji turned to stare at Eren, a crazy look in their eye.

“Uh, yeah,” Eren stuttered out, holding Jean’s suit jacket in one hand while pulling on his suspenders with the other. “I warmed up earlier before I put my makeup on, so I’m good to go whenever.”

Erwin stared silently at Eren, pinning the brunette to the spot.

“You should stretch again before you finish getting dressed.” Erwin finally spoke, pushing himself away from the doorframe. “You’ve got plenty of time before you perform. Moblit, go tell Erd to switch a song with Eren’s performance to push it back.”

Moblit quickly ducked around the manager, fleeing down the hallway.

“Hanji, Petra wanted to talk to you later tonight about her costume for next week. I’m sure you won’t have a problem finishing up here and then giving her a call?”

“I’ll go call her now, actually.” Hanji began to leave before noticing the look Erwin had fixed them with. “Or, you know, finish up here first. That works too, even though I’m totally not behind.”

“Jean.” Erwin said, turning to face him.

“Yes, sir?” Jean replied automatically. 

“Welcome back.” Erwin smiled warmly. “Are you singing for us tonight?”

Jean looked nervously at Hanji where they were pointedly ignoring eye contact.

“I’m not on the schedule, am I?” he answered uncertainly.

“Not exactly, though Christa is scheduled to sing one of your duets alone tonight.”

Jean glared at Hanji.

“I guess since I’m already here, I can. Even though I haven’t had a chance to warm up yet, I’m sure I can find someone to help me.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” Erwin paused before turning to leave. “Oh, and Eren?”

“Yeah?” Eren jumped to attention.

“Fix your eyeliner.”

With the manager now gone, Jean turned back to the room, feeling dismissed. Eren let out a huge sigh and slumped in his chair.

“Don’t worry, Eren, you learn how to deal with him.” Hanji said cheerfully from their new place on the floor. 

“Oh, you mean like lying to his face and planning to make me work even though I haven’t planned on even being here?” Jean’s anger from earlier returned. 

“Yup,” Hanji said absently around the pins in their mouth. They had surrounded themselves with a nest of black fabric and sewing supplies from the now gutted kit. 

“What am I even going to do?” Jean asked out loud, mostly to himself. He knew when Hanji started sewing, there was almost no distracting them. He didn’t care what Eren had to say about it. “I haven’t even warmed up today.”

“Like you do a thorough job of that literally ever.” Hanji commented, cutting a hem.

“What am I supposed to wear? Eren’s got my jacket.” Jean crossed the room, shedding his beanie and leather jacket. “If I’m singing with Christa, there’s no way my other costumes would work.”

Hanji didn’t look up from their work.

“I already told you, I’ve got a plan for that. If Eren doesn’t get back before it’s time for you to head out, you can wear his.”

“How long does your act even last?” Jean asked Eren directly. He dropped his jacket onto the vanity, careful to miss the mess of cream and powder that had definitely not been there before he left.

“About ten minutes.” Eren answered, watching as Jean pulled his red tee off over his head. 

“Christa’s performing that early?” Jean practically wailed. “There’s no time to practice with her then.” The red shirt joined the pile of clothes on the vanity.

“She’s singing If I Didn’t Care. You two have sung that together so many times it’s not even funny. You’ll be fine.”

Jean petulantly kicked off his boots under the table and turned again to Hanji.

“It doesn’t matter how many times we’ve sung together. Christa still likes to warm up before hand with me. It helps her get into character. I can’t put her on the spot like that, just showing up like some sort of roustabout.”

“For someone so hell-bent against it, you sure are getting ready pretty quickly.” Jean froze, his hands on his belt buckle, and stared at Eren. The brunette sat with a smug look on his face, one that was ruined by the still lopsided makeup he was wearing. “And who the hell even says ‘roustabout’ anymore?”

“People with a vocabulary higher than a fifth grade reading level.” Jean spat back. He angrily unfastened the buckle and pulled the leather out of the loops. It clanged loudly to the floor. Between Hanji’s plans and Eren’s general presence, Jean’s patience was wearing thin.

“Also people who watch too many Elvis movies,” Hanji supplied from the floor.

Before Jean could reply, Moblit returned to the dressing room.

“Eren, I bought you an extra 10 minutes. I tried for longer, I really did, but Erd wasn’t having any of it. You should hurry out.” 

“Thanks, Moblit.” Eren began to stand, pulling his suspenders over his shoulders as he went.

“No way, bucko.” Jean grabbed Eren’s shoulders, effectively steering him back onto the stool. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m getting dressed, fuckwad. What does it look like I’m doing? Get your hands off me” 

“I’m trying to do you a favor.” Jean let go of Eren’s struggling shoulders to grab and steady his chin. Pulling his face closer, Jean looked at the streaky foundation. “Erwin said to fix your makeup, so I’m going to fix your makeup.”

Leaning closer, Jean wiped a thumb across Eren’s cheek, smearing a majority of the offending eyeliner. Eren’s mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out.

“It’s like you’ve never put stage makeup on before,” Jean muttered mostly to himself, shortly dragging a hand over Eren’s warm cheek. He turned to the vanity and grabbed cotton swabs and a bottle of makeup remover.

“I haven’t,” Eren replied quietly. Jean almost dropped the bottle.

“You haven’t put it on yourself before, or you haven’t worn it before?” 

“Both.”

Even Hanji looked up at that.

“What did you do then? Before this, I mean.” Jean soaked a cotton swab and grabbed Eren’s face to steady it. “Look up.”

Eren looked at Hanji first before complying. He flinched involuntarily when the swab touched his skin.

“I was a street performer. I didn’t wear makeup.”

“You mean you were literally pulled off the streets?” Jean tried to hold back his laughter, but Eren could hear it in his voice. 

“Oi!” He yelled, turning in Jean’s hands to fully face him.

“Like you really have room to talk,” Hanji interrupted before Eren could completely lose it, “Mr. College-dropout-still-lives-with-his-mother.”

“First of all, when she’s in the states, my mother lives with me. And secondly, saying ‘dropout’ makes it sound like I had a choice in the matter. They kicked me out.” 

Jean had grabbed a brush and was now violently buffing out Eren’s makeup. 

“That’s not any better,” Eren grumbled, trying to lean away. “Actually, that’s much worse.” Jean scoffed and grabbed the stick of eyeliner Eren had been wielding like a weapon earlier.

“There were extenuating circumstances surrounding the whole thing, and really, are my academic failings any of your business? Now close your eyes and whatever you do, don’t flinch.” 

After a few false starts, Jean finally stabilized Eren’s face by leaning over him and holding it roughly with both hands. It wasn’t perfect, but it allowed for Jean to carefully apply the eyeliner in short strokes with relative ease. Leaning back slightly to judge the symmetry, Jean made a low, appreciative humming sound in the back of his throat. Eren’s eyes opened as the note stretched out and fluctuated pitch. After an extended moment, one of Eren’s eyebrows shot into his hair. 

“What are you doing?” His voice was low and breathy, warming Jean’s cheek. Eren’s cheeks were flushed a dark, blotchy red. Realizing how close they were, Jean reeled back, straightening suddenly. Trying to smooth over the motion, Jean reached up and stretched the muscles in his back. His spine popped satisfactorily. Turning, he threw the eyeliner pencil on to the pile of miscellaneous makeup three shades too dark for him.

“I was warming up,” Jean started turning back. “Did I really use that much blush or did you literally just change colors?”

Jean grinned internally at how the color darkened and spread. His ears and collarbones were covered in the same crimson. 

The dressing room door opened and Moblit stuck his head through. “Ere-”

“COMING,” He answered a little too forcefully. Without making eye contact, Eren grabbed Jean’s suit jacket and stormed out of the room.

“Break a leg, babycakes.” Jean called after him. Eren’s hand made a brief reappearance in the doorway, making an obscene gesture. Jean’s belly laugh echoed around the room and followed Eren down the hallway.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Eren's first performance, he hears Jean sing for the first time.

Eren returned to the dressing room, ripped jacket in hand. During his performance he had heard it tear despite his effort to make the too-tight jacket work. It wasn’t a large hole, just big enough to fit his hand through, right down the middle between the shoulders, but it was big enough that Eren felt bad for making Hanji fix it. He didn’t think twice about how Jean would react, mostly because he didn’t care.

Instead, Eren draped it across the back of a chair and quickly forgot about it.

The next thing to go were the metal-bottomed shoes that had caused him so much grief. When Erwin first approached Eren in the mall plaza where he was performing, Erwin explained that he wouldn’t have to dance anything unless he wanted to. What he didn’t say was that both he and Hanji were really good at “challenging your skills”. Eren had spent the first two weeks of his employment learning how to tap dance just to prove that he could. And he didn’t make a complete fool out of himself with his first performance on an actual stage, so that had to count for something. A couple of slips quickly disguised as part of the choreography, but nothing major.

Shedding the rest of his costume onto the floor, Eren pulled on a pair of jeans and went to the small sink in the corner of the room to wash the thick cake of makeup off of his face. He dried his face and heard the door to the dressing room open and close. Moblit stood in the middle of the room, apparently looking for something. When he noticed Eren, his eyes lit up.

“Eren, that was a wonderful performance tonight!” Eren smiled at the compliment and dropped the damp towel onto the counter by the sink. “I’ve never seen anyone dance like that.”

“Thanks, Moblit. That means a lot to me.” Picking up a t-shirt from his bag, Eren pulled it over his head.

“Here,” Moblit started, pulling a white envelope from his ever present clipboard and handing it over. “Your wages for the night. It’s cash, I hope you don’t mind.”

Eren went wide-eyed. There was easily $500 in it. Before Eren could respond, Moblit continued talking.

“On nights we charge cover, you’ll get a cut of that if you perform. We also don’t have to take out a choreographer’s fee from your check since you do your own, which is impressive. Petra’s been dancing here for years and she still insists she can’t make her own routines.”

“It’s different for everyone,” Eren started, defensive of the redhead he’d only met once. “When I took classes in high school there were quite a few very talented dancers who were more technically focused than creative.”

“That, I believe.” Moblit looked at his watch. “Erwin wanted to invite you to stay the rest of the night, so you can see what few acts we have scheduled. If you have plans, I understand, but if not the first two drinks are free for employees at the bar. I’d also suggest you clean up around here before Levi sees.”

Eren looked behind him at the vanity. The shiny surface was streaked with powder and loose brushes. He noticed that he had left the lid off a tube of cream foundation that was now slowly pooling beneath it.

Eren cringed.

“Yeah, I’ll get on that.” Eren could still see the look that Levi had given him when he had forgotten to clean up after one of his early morning practices. It’s like the contempt alone had burned the image into the back of his eyelids. Moblit left the room, leaving Eren to half-assedly clean up his mess and head down the hallway towards the stage-side entrance.

Leaving backstage, Eren walked behind the band over to the bar. Moving between patrons, he grabbed a barstool and gestured to the bartender. Levi looked up from where he was polishing the spotless wine glasses, dark eyebrows raising microscopically in recognition. The shorter man set the glass down and approached the newcomer.

“What’s up, Jaeger?” Levi’s rough baritone voice always sounded vaguely negative in a way that was hard to place, as if Eren wasn’t worth the effort it took to speak.

“Moblit said Erwin invited me to see the rest of the lineup tonight.” Eren watched as Levi dragged a perfectly white cloth across the mirrored surface of the bar. “Do you know who’s all performing?”

“Jean and Christa just finished their duet, but you were the main draw tonight. The rest of the night is basically the band, maybe Christa again. Nights like tonight aren’t super structured since we’re not as busy on weeknights.”

Eren nodded. He hadn’t met the famous Christa yet, but Hanji seemed to really adore her. Meeting Jean had gone over like a lead balloon, but Christa was apparently a saint.

“Speak of the Devil.” Levi looked over Eren’s shoulder, almost smiling. Eren turned to see a blonde woman in a long, white dress crossing the dance floor. She caught Eren’s eyes and smiled, brightening the whole room.

“Good evening, Levi.” Christa greeted the bartender and then turned to Eren. “Hello, you must be Eren.” He nodded dumbly, completely missing the dainty hand that Christa extended to him.

“Eren, this is Christa.” Levi broke the awkward silence. Awoken from his stupor, Eren finally taking the outstretched hand.

“I’ve heard so much about you.” Eren responded. “Both Erwin and Hanji spoke highly of you.”

“I, of course, was talking shit.” Levi butted in. Christa laughed like an angel.

“Of course.” She turned her brilliant smile back to Eren. “I saw you dance earlier. That was very impressive.”

“Thanks.” Eren turned a brilliant shade of red. “I haven’t heard you sing yet. I was getting out of costume when you and Jean were performing, but I’m really looking forward to it. Are you going to be performing again tonight?”

“I’m not. Historia has plans tonight, so I’m going to be leaving early. Generally on nights like this I’d get a few requests, but it seems like Jean’s got that covered. We had just come off stage when Mina, one of the waitresses, pulled him aside to give him a patron’s request. He’s talking to Erd right now about his song choice.”

Christa gestured to the right of the stage where the house band was set up. In the ambient lighting, Eren could just make out Jean leaning over the grand piano, talking to the person on the bench. His suit jacket was missing.

“Is he really that good?” Eren couldn’t help the venom in his voice. Christa and Levi exchanged looks.

“You’ll understand once you see him perform. Erwin won’t settle for anything less than spectacular.” Levi turned away, pouring a drink for a customer down the bar.

“That’s why you’re here.” Christa smiled and placed a hand lightly on Eren’s upper arm. “Even though Jean’s kind of a grump, he is very talented. It’s a experience when you hear him for the first time.” She lightly squeezed and then turned to go. “I’ll see you another night. Good night!”

Eren watched her go, her small figure cutting a path easily through the crowd. Occasionally, she’d stop to greet someone, but never stayed for long. Her angelic smile never wavered. Eren was about to turn back to the bar when a cheer went up through the audience.

“Looks like it will happen for you sooner than expected.” Eren heard Levi mumble behind him. He watched as Jean took to the stage. Jean looked like hell, with mussed hair and his shirt sleeves folded up over his elbows, but he was easily working the crowd. 

Jean grabbed the lone microphone, tipping the stand to bring it close to his face. The bar went silent.

“This one is called ‘Do I Wanna Know’.” He looked over to the band and nodded. Erd counted off and the sound of an acoustic guitar filled the silence. Eren was still trying to place where he knew the song from when Jean began to sing.

Everything melted away.

Jean’s voice filled the room like oxygen until it permeated every heartbeat in Eren’s chest. He didn’t make eye contact, but it felt like every word was breathed against the column of Eren’s neck. He shivered. The music tasted like smoke and leather, making Eren’s mouth water.

By the time Jean reached the chorus, Eren was a mess. No amount of hatred or willpower could keep him from the spell that had been so effortlessly cast. Eren was mesmerized by the way his lips moved, distracted by the long fingers that cradled the microphone with such reverence and delicacy. 

Jean’s voice wrapped Eren in deep burgundy velvet, soft and truer than any boombox could ever hope to be. His voice soared flawlessly, from a deep kiss to a bell’s chime. Every intake of breath between lines was like the moment of silence between trains and every word hit him like one. Eren’s fingers dug into his thighs as he leaned much too far forward in an endeavor to be closer.

The song ended just as suddenly as it began, leaving Eren feeling flushed and empty. There was a brief second of silence after the last note died, before the shocked crowd broke into cheers. Eren found his hands shaking too badly to join in.

Jean grinned, cocky and sure. With a quick bow, he disappeared into the black curtains dividing the stage. Eren turned back to the bar where Levi watched him, looking like the cat that caught the canary. At least as much as he could while still wearing the same sour expression. Eren did his best to ignore it.

“Moblit said something about free drinks for performers?” 

“That’s generally how it goes, yeah.” Levi’s eyes didn’t leave Eren’s face even as he continued to scrub the bar top. Eren went to place his elbows on the bar, but a subtle clenching in Levi’s jaw and narrowing of his grey eyes made the dancer sit up straighter and fold his hands in his lap. “What can I get you?”

“Uhh.” Eren said eloquently, staring at the lines of colorful bottles lining the shelves behind the bar. “I don’t normally drink by myself.”

Levi raised a single eyebrow.

“Something sweet, I guess.” Eren scratched at the back of his neck nervously. “Something light that doesn’t taste too strong?”

“Would you be wanting that in a sippy cup? I think I’m out of bottle nipples.”

It took Eren a second too long to realize Levi was joking.

“N-no. Just give me whatever you suggest.” 

“Alright, Jaeger Bomb.” Levi moved down the bar, pointedly ignoring a person who snapped their fingers at him. Eren watched as the bartender cracked open a can and drained its contents into a glass. Levi tossed the can and brought a dark green bottle from under the bar, filling a shot class before returning it. He brought over the two glasses, setting them in front of Eren with a clink.

“You ever had one of these?” Levi clicked his tongue when Eren shook his head no. “I’m going to drop this shot glass into the cup and then you’re going to drink it as fast as you can.”

Eren looked dubious. Generally, his sister would closely monitor how much and what kind of alcohol he consumed and it felt weird to be drinking without her. He was fairly sure in how he could handle his liquor, but he was still on the fence about drinking alone.

“Yo, Levi!” The sound of Jean’s voice behind him broke Eren out of his stupor. He grabbed the shot glass out of the bartender’s hands and dropped it into the pub glass. When it clinked against the bottom, he closed his eyes and downed the whole thing. Levi raised an eyebrow as Eren dropped the glasses and wiped the spilled Red Bull from his chin with the back of his hand. It tasted terrible, but Eren refused to cough even as his eyes watered.

“Impressive,” Jean said, leaning on his elbow against the bar between Eren and the next barstool. He smirked and turned to Levi. “Two more?”

Levi waited for Eren to protest, but when none came, he left the two alone to make more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you want to hear what Jean sang this chapter, you can listen [here](http://hellajam.tumblr.com/post/104623683311/ihatealexturner-arctic-monkeys-do-i-wanna). Eren's dance performance was based on [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h_bX0T76X8U) though with taps... and alone.


	3. Chapter 3

Jean woke to a loud knocking. He could hear Ymir shouting at him through the door to get his lazy ass up. Great, he thought, another noise complaint. With a groan, Jean rolled from his bed, landing on the floor in a jumble of limbs and blankets. He barely paused to untangle himself before running to the door, assuring Ymir that he was in fact awake. Jean opened the front door, just missing getting his face knocked on by the impatient woman on the other side.

“You know voice coaches don’t normally make house calls,” Jean’s voice was still gravely with sleep.

“You know most people actually show up to work on time,” Ymir looked unimpressed. She gave Jean a once over and crossed her dark arms over her thin chest. “Also, most people at least put pants on before answering the door. 

Jean looked down at himself, standing in the entryway wearing a pair of black boxer briefs and a single sock. He had no idea where the other one had went in the course of the night. The most offensive thing about his getup was the pasty skin of his chest, so he just shrugged.

“Ten minutes?” He asked hopefully. Ymir scoffed and pushed past him into the apartment.

“You have five.”

Jean left Ymir to herself, knowing she knew her way around the place well enough by now. Instead of following her into the kitchen, he returned to his bedroom. He pulled on a pair of jeans he found on the floor close enough to the clean laundry pile to pass. Grabbing his phone from the nightstand, he checked the time and immediately went to find Ymir.

The freckled brunette was still in the kitchen, making herself a cup of coffee in the lopsided mug Jean had made his mother in his middle school art class. Jean had long ago given up on trying to convince Ymir from using it.

“It’s only 9:30. What the ever loving hell are you doing here this early?” Ymir looked at him over the rim of the mug.

“I was hoping it would take you longer to figure that out.” She took a drink. “We’re meeting Historia for breakfast.”

Jean sighed and just barely resisted the urge to fall to the ground dramatically in protest. He liked hanging out with Historia outside of the bar, but Ymir only invited him places to get him to pay for things.

“I’m going back to bed.” Jean turned to leave. 

“Hey, hey, hey, diaper baby. You owe me from that ride home I gave you last Thursday.” Ymir sat the mug down on the counter before hoisting herself onto the marble. Her long, denim clad legs swung freely, banging against the cabinets.

Jean had tried to forget that night. He didn’t need the reminder of getting wasted to the point of missing his train home and calling Ymir of all people for a ride. He should have known that it would come with stipulations. 

“We’ll even go to that hipster cafe you love.” Ymir was attempting to sweeten the pot. He knew he was leaving with her either way, but they both knew from experience that bribery was easier than removing him forcefully from his apartment. “You know you wanna go.”

“Wanting to go and wanting to go with you are two different things.” Jean grabbed Ymir’s orphaned cup and took a drink. “Besides, who gives you the right to try this so early? Historia works nights too, so I know this wasn’t her idea.”

“Jean.” Ymir was suddenly grave. She placed a hand on his shoulder and forced him to look her in the eyes. “Jean, you can’t woo someone unless you plan ahead. I know that it’s been awhile for you, but you gotta be punctual with your future bae.”

“Historia isn’t even waiting for us, is she? Are we ambushing her on her morning run again to make you seem like a suave motherfucker? I am not getting in on your stupid lovesick nonsense.”

“Jean, you’re too young to be this cynical.”

“You’re only like 2 months older than me.”

“Come on Jean, where’s your romantic side?”

“Still in bed. Try again in three hours.”

“You could have told me you had a friend over. Do you need me to leave?”

“YES.” Jean through his hands up. “Wait, no. That’s not what I meant. This is why I don’t like talking to you.”

Ymir almost fell off the counter, clutching her stomach in fits of laughter. Jean looked defeated.

“Let me shower first. Asshole.”

Jean came out of his room almost an hour later to a seething Ymir.

“What the hell took you so long? We’ll have missed Historia’s morning run by now, you jackass!”

“I had to get ready. Forty-five minutes in the shower and five minutes to get dressed.”

“What in your shower could occupy you for forty-five minutes? I know you don’t actually have anyone over; god help you if you were masturbating.”

“Your presence would kill it if I tried. I read every word on every bottle in there to kill time. That’s my vengeance for you waking me up so early.”

“God, I hate you so much. Why do I put up with you?” Ymir grabbed Jean by the shirt collar and began pulling him towards the door.

“Because Erwin pays you to.” Jean complained. “And stop pulling on my shirt, you’re going to rip it.”

Ymir stopped dead in her tracks and used Jean’s continuing momentum to slam him into the wall of the entry way. Using the hand not bunched in his shirt collar, she grabbed the longest part of his wet hair and pulled down until they were eye level. It was only a few centimeters, just enough to be annoying.

“Listen here, you little shit.” Ymir was seething, her dark eyes locked onto Jean’s. The hand in his hair kept him from looking away. “Erwin pays me to give you singing lessons and I get paid whether you show up or not. So this whole ‘drag your ass’ routine of ours is out of the kindness of my own heart. We’re friends, numbnuts. That’s a two way thing. So you’re gonna pull your head out of your ass and come with me, alright?”

Jean nodded mutely. Instantaneously, Ymir broke into a smile. She released Jean’s head and when he stepped away from the wall, she hit his back with painful gusto.

“Alright. Let’s go meet Historia for breakfast. Your treat.” Ymir laughed and left the apartment, leaving the door open in her wake. It wasn’t often Ymir got serious, but fuck was she intimidating when she did. Jean shoved his feet into a pair of boots and quietly locked up behind them. 

Jean was quiet the short distance between his apartment and the corner cafe he frequented for too many meals. Ymir focused on frantically texting, not caring how many people she bumped into. Knowing her, she was talking to Historia, trying to figure out how to   
meet up with her without seeming like she was trying too hard. He didn’t really understand why she was working so hard at it. Ymir and Historia were the most in love people he had really ever seen.

Reaching the cafe, Jean held the door open for the still texting Ymir and entered the cafe behind her. The smell of coffee wrapped around Jean soothingly as the barista made eye contact and smiled in recognition. With how often Jean came here, he should really learn his name. Looking around, he found Historia sitting alone in a corner booth. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a high ponytail and she was in a grey tracksuit. Her face was void of makeup and she was bent over her phone, resting her elbows on the table. She chewed on her bottom lip. Her phone dinged and she looked up expectantly. Seeing Ymir, her face brightened. Her thin lips spread into a small smile, her blue eyes still tired.

No matter how many times Jean had seen the transition, he could not fathom that the small, frumpy woman in front of him was the same angelic singer he performed with all the time. Historia was a fantastic method actress, to the point where if she was in the bar there was no Historia. There was only sweet little Christa. Ymir had told him the difference was so drastic, it was like dating two different women. She then rubbed it into his face. Repeatedly.

Ymir immediately gravitated to her presence. She fell bodily into the booth bench and wrapped an arm around Historia’s shoulders.

“Historia, my love.” Ymir practically sang, planting kisses all over her girlfriend’s face. “How crazy is it that we keep meeting like this? It must be fate!”

“You invited me here.” Historia’s voice was low with exasperation, but she returned one of Ymir’s kisses anyway.

“Nonsense, it’s definitely the cosmos telling us we should spend more time together. See, the fates even conspired to have Jean graciously comp our breakfast.” For the first time, Historia looked directly at Jean, as if she had just been alerted to his presence.

“Good Morning, Historia.” Jean greeted, sitting in the bench across from the lovers.

“Morning, Jean. I’m surprised to see you out of bed this early.”

“You and me both. Your girlfriend here decided 9:30 was an acceptable time to be at my place making a racket.”

“That was almost an hour ago.” Historia turned her attention back to Ymir. “What on earth took you guys so long to walk 4 blocks?”

“It wasn’t the walking that was the issue. Jeanbo here decided to take an ice age to get ready this morning.” Jean scoffed at the name and stood up.

“I like my revenge small and petty. Now, I’m going to get some coffee.”

“Get me a vanilla latte and one of those tasty danishes that they have.” Ymir called after Jean, not moving from her seat. Jean stopped his trek to the counter to turn back and glare at the offending woman.

“If you want something, you can get it your damn self.”

“RUDE.” Ymir and Historia said simultaneously, causing Ymir to break down in laughter even as she stood. Jean stormed off to the bar, shoulders hunched. A small line had formed since they had arrived, and he begrudgingly stood at the end. The door directly behind him opened and closed, a cool breeze pushing against Jean’s back and ruffling his hair. Ymir came to stand next to him and rested her elbow painfully on his shoulder.

Jean pulled his phone out of his pocket to kill time only to remember that it was dead.

“Yeah, I tried calling you earlier before I resorted to pissing off that old lady who lives next door trying to wake you up.” Ymir looked over his shoulder, putting more weight on her elbow. Jean shrugged both in reply and to get her to move her arm.

“I left my charger in my dressing room last Thursday and couldn’t be assed to go get it.”

“It’s been almost a week. You mean to tell me you live in that swanky apartment, but you only have one charger?”

“That apartment isn’t as expensive as you think. Mom got it rent-controlled in the 80’s.”

“You live alone and have three bedrooms, Jean.” Ymir was indignant. “Historia and I couldn’t dream of affording that. But that’s not really the point. The point is normal people without financial issues have more than one phone charger. Hell, even if you only have one it shouldn’t take you six days to go get yours from where you left it.”

“It just didn’t seem worth the trouble of going all the way to the bar during my weekend.”

Jean was spared Ymir’s disbelieving look by the barista asking to help the next customer. The blonde behind the counter smiled widely and took their orders. He didn’t even flinch when Ymir practically wiped out the pastry display.

“I thought you only wanted one danish?” Jean asked as the barista began collecting the pastries. Surreptitiously looking at his name tag, Jean saw his name was Thomas. He’d have to stop calling him Sideburns. 

“That was if you were going to get it. Since I had to get up and walk all the way over here, there’s a breakfast food tax for all that movement.” Thomas laughed and slid the overflowing bag across the counter. Ymir snatched it and ran off. Jean pulled his wallet out, defeated.

He quietly paid and waited for his coffee, taking all three styrofoam cups back to the table. Ymir had dropped off her pastry haul and met Jean midway to take the one balanced precariously between his arm and chest. Relieved of the burden, he followed Ymir back to the table and placed Historia’s drink in front of her. He sat down and stole a bagel from the top of Ymir’s bag. Before she could protest, Jean licked it.

“Ew. You’re so gross.” Ymir said around a mouthful of muffin.

“You don’t get to talk. You created this monster.” Jean dragged his tongue slowly across the other side of the bagel. Ymir reminded him of an old school friend when it came to food sometimes. “This is how I have to claim my territory around you. Otherwise, I’d never eat.”

“As long as you don’t go lifting your leg, I think we’ll be alright.” Historia said, eyes on the table. 

“Et tu?” Jean leaned back against the cushioned bench seat. He hated it when they ganged up on him like that. “How have you been, Historia? I didn’t get a chance to talk to you outside the bar on Thursday.”

“Mostly the same, though you really should give some warning that you’re going to crash a performance.”

That had been the first time Jean had seen Christa break character in the entire time they had worked together. He had been waiting in the wings when Christa had started the set, debating on whether or not he wanted to wear Eren’s ill-fitting jacket. Generally, both he and Christa started on stage together. Not knowing he was there, Christa began the song, gliding effortlessly through the lyrics even into the drop that would normally have been Jean’s part. Her voice had cracked, but Christa had played it off as emotion. Ditching Eren’s jacket on the piano bench, Jean turned his microphone on and picked up where Christa had trailed off. When he appeared on stage, Christa had turned to him with a glare that was all Historia. Feeding off the lyrics, Jean had crossed the stage and pulled her into his arms, giving her time to fume and get back into character without showing her face. By the time her part started again, Christa was flawlessly back into it.

“I’m sorry about that. I wasn’t planning on being there at all, but when I showed up, Hanji insisted that I perform.”

Historia nodded, but didn’t say anything. Ymir finished the last of the muffin and leaned forward across the table.

“So are you going to tell us what exactly happened on Thursday, or are we going to have to annoy it out of you? Because I will do that.”

Jean sighed heavily and took a bite of the bagel. He chewed slowly, staring Ymir down. When he swallowed, Ymir raised an eyebrow.

“Well?” She asked, blindly picking a danish out of the bag. “I know you don’t just get so drunk you miss your train for the hell of it.” Jean knew that either Ymir could hear it from him and only gloat for a short period, or when they got to Sina’s she’d ask Levi and hold it over him forever.

“Eren and I got into a drinking contest.” Jean started sullenly.

“That’s it? You challenged the newbie to a drinking contest? I bet he kicked your ass at it.”

“No. I technically won, if you count being the only one not to throw up as winning.” Ymir’s mouth dropped open.

“You’re so bad at being drunk though,” Historia said. She had borne witness to most of his attempts to out-drink Ymir.

“Turns out Jaeger is a terrible lightweight that doesn’t know when to give up. We were only three drinks in when he fell off the stool, but he refused to admit defeat.”

“And Levi kept pouring? Generally, he’s really staunch about overserving.”

“I’m not very good at reading Levi, but I’m pretty sure he was enjoying it. Like he just wanted to see how far Eren would go to prove himself.” Jean took a drink of his coffee and revelled in the warm caffeine.

“Wait, you said that you were the only one who didn’t puke. Please tell me that Eren vomited on or around Levi.” Ymir didn’t like the way Levi looked down on everyone and her eyes were glowing at the possibility of him getting knocked down a peg.

“No, thank god. I really don’t think that Eren would still have a job if that happened. He passed out on the bartop and Levi made me carry him back stage since it was starting to get busy.”

“That’s still pretty funny. But why were you so against telling it? It’s not like you did something stupid.” Ymir asked, taking another bite of danish.

Jean considered saying something high handed like he didn’t want to embarrass Eren in front of people he didn’t know or that Eren had asked him not to tell anyone. However, it look him too long to come up with a satisfying excuse, and Historia picked up on it.

“You did do something stupid.” She didn’t phrase it as a question.

“You mean above and beyond getting hammered on your first full day back in the states with the new guy?” Ymir reasoned out, her eyes widening when the end of her sentence struck a chord. “Did you put the moves on Eren? Please tell me you made a pass at him.”

“No.” Jean protested, slightly too loud. “I didn’t make a pass at him. Raging douchenozzle isn’t really my type. But I’m not super athletic and generally I’m the one being carried away. So there may have been some awkward drunken manhandling”

“Did you touch his dick?” Ymir didn’t even try to lower her voice.

“YMIR,” Jean and Historia admonished at the same time. Historia turned back to look at Jean.

“But really, did you?” She asked, blue eyes wide.

“No. There was no dick touching.” Jean clarified. “You know what, enjoy your breakfast. I’m leaving.” He stood and grabbed his coffee.

“Oh, come on, Jeanbo.”

“Nope. Double nope now that you called me that, Ymir. Only my mom calls me that.” Jean turned and started to walk away.

“Where are you going?” Historia called after him.

“To work,” Jean called back over his shoulder.

“We still have like two hours before we have to be at the bar. You’re never early, much less that early.”

“Nope, can’t hear you. Leaving.” Jean pushed through the door and turned toward the subway station. He didn’t really care if they followed him or not. Sometimes, Jean wondered who he killed in a past life to get stuck with friends like that. Not that they were terrible friends, just that they didn’t really know when to let up. Most of the people Jean knew wouldn’t drop all their plans at a moments notice to come and pick him up from work like Ymir had. And Historia had always understood when he talked about music and was never put out by his bluntness. 

They caught up with him just as he was descending into the subway. Historia silently grabbed Jean’s elbow, making him flinch at the contact. She smiled up at him briefly.

“You know we only pick on you because we love you, right?” Ymir asked, coming up on his other side, still munching from the bag of pastries.

“Yeah, yeah.” Jean answered, putting his free hand in his jacket pocket. He drained the last of his coffee and threw it in a passing bin. Together, the three of them walked through the turnstiles and onto the the next southbound train.


End file.
